


The Portrait

by MiladyPheonix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Artists, Doctor John, John Whump, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 15:36:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17727968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyPheonix/pseuds/MiladyPheonix
Summary: Renaissance AU, John's publishers make him sit for a portrait, Sherlock is the painter. Implied future Johnlock.





	The Portrait

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here I go JohnWhumping it again! Gotta Stop hurting John FFS. This is inspired by a stunning pic which I can't link in the post because the OP hasn't responded to my requests for permission yet. It's on my Tumblr ithinkthereforiamfandom. (Sorry, links hate me atm)

“Dr Watson please understand that we have portraits of all of our authors, you will be in distinguished company.” A very young face almost pleaded with John; after he had sent a polite letter declining an official portrait it had taken only hours for the summons from his publishers to arrive at his drawing room. “I have no vanity to flatter young man and no wish to inflict my face upon the world, besides I hear your official artist is something of a nightmare and you know I’m a man of little patience.” John stated the facts, as he had in his letter so nodding to the clerk he gathered his belongings to leave but as he opened the door he almost walked immediately into a sharply pressed black coat. “Excuse me sir” John nodded to step past the figure but it didn’t move.

“Nightmare, not sir" Sherlock Holmes looked down at him with those curious eyes he was so famous for, the eyes gave John a look over that bordered on impertinent. “I am a nightmare yes, but you sir require a falling light. Late afternoon not early evening would be to your advantage and carry your colouring to best effect. Shall we say 5pm, at my studio rather as I can see you find strangers in your chambers invasive.”

John was quite startled as this admittedly beautiful man had summed up his face and moods in one look, he gave an unsteady nod and left as the painter stepped around him, which means John missed the sly smile he exchanged with the clerk. John puzzled things out in his carriage, the man must be a magician, only that would explain John agreeing to alter his dinner time and the man's works that hung in publisher’s halls certainly spoke of witchcraft too, so exacting were they that they seemed to breath. “The long way!" He called to his coachman as he needed to think.

Fascinated, John was fascinated by Sherlock Holmes and he acknowledged that he had not been so curious since his days in the medical school when they would operate in the amphitheatre and he could witness the new practise of autopsy. A message had arrived beside his dinner plate inviting him to Mr Holmes’ studios at 4:45pm the next evening. Refreshment would be served for fifteen minutes and Sherlock Holmes even sent apologies for intruding on John’s dinner time, though John had never mentioned this outside of his household staff. He was informed by the letter that he would only be needed for an hour each day and John read this with a suppressed huff, here was the nightmare as a portrait in a hour each day would take weeks if not months. He would have to see about this time frame.

John arrived the next afternoon to a fair meal of small meat pies and a light wine. A comfortable chair stood in profile and he studied it as they ate and as the artist studied him. “I'll not be doing your profile Doctor, you strained your back a few days before we met and reclining between the chair back and the wall will rest it suitably, do you have your pen?” John opened his mouth to query the casual posture and explain that he had not been asked to bring his pen but all that came out was. “How on earth did you know I have strained my back?”

The enigma smiled at him brightly, so clearly sharing his intelligence was something which was enjoyed. “You were standing rigidly as you left the office but that might have been indignation, however you moved only your neck to look up at me when most would extend the back. You halted this natural movement so it clearly pained you.” “Mr Holmes that was brilliant. However we must discuss your timeframe, an hour each day will not suit. I’m a busy man.” The artist seemed troubled by this and collected a small looking glass before he called John to the window.

John had never been a vain man but the yellow light of the fading sun did indeed make his skin looking glowingly healthful and his eyes showed to very good effect. “Very well" He nodded quietly as he drained his wine, picked up a pen and settled in the chair. He felt he had been given quite a gift in that golden image of his own face and he was smiling as a head of dark curls settled behind an easel to start sketching only occasionally addressing him when John’s focus started fading. The hour passed quickly and John found himself lingering to view the sketch of his form in the chair. “You have an excellent hand Mr Holmes” and it was true.

His portrait made rapid progress and clearly the artist's memory was extraordinary as John arrived the next day to see an almost completed sketch. The meal was of a different meat and the wine was heavier but the man clearly had good tastes and perhaps this would not be such a trial, his gaze was acute though and it was unsettling after a time as John felt a headache build after the first week.

…

“You cannot leave." It was a statement and John started at the tone. His painter has been nothing but polite till now. “You are a doctor surely you have noticed? Doctor, John, you have contracted the influenza. Please remain here as the evening is chilled. I will send for your people but I must urge you to remain" John stared at the man, he was not a doctor but John knew he was intelligent so he dismissed the informality of his given name and took stock of himself.

He had the influenza, and if untreated he knew the next curious autopsy might well be his! He was considering the progression of the disease when a long cool hand grasped his arm. “My housekeeper will go for your staff and my residence is behind this studio, I have space and we shall get you settled.” “How did you know?” How, when John himself had not. “Your eyes are shrunken, tightened with the pain from your head. Your skin has lost colour and shines with moisture but no longer glows with its natural tones. You are a physician so you are likely to have been exposed. Obvious” There was no bright smile accompanying the intelligence this time.

…

John lay in bed for weeks, grateful he had enjoyed good health before now and hopeful that he would again. He had kept only two from his own household as they had been temporary to begin with and was tended to very well by them, Sherlock's own people, and sometimes Sherlock himself. He did not recall when he began to be on familiar terms with the man but it is likely that a strong bout of the fever had drawn them closer. The disease had struck John’s stomach though he was now just able to keep his meals inside again and hoped that this meant he was on the mend.

Sherlock had been ruthless in defence of John’s life, at one point sending the doctor and his leeches from the room in a fury when the poor man suggested they summon a priest and John remembered little of that dreadful time except the cold cloths and Sherlock’s voice calling him back again and again.

Still he was recovering he was sure, so when Sherlock lead one of his own staff in carrying John’s dinner he found himself able to sit up and was allowed to remain so though Sherlock had previously chased him to recline again. “Sherlock, thank you” His throat felt like a crumbling vase but he had to tell this kind man of his gratitude. “None needed John, I would not risk loosing you.” “I’m a valuable commission no doubt" John spoke more freely as the broth soothed his voice. “The commission… your portrait is almost done. It will be finished within the month. I do normally paint from memory and have had time between ensuring your care to do much of the work.”

John nodded and finished the broth, bread, and honeyed wine that had been his invalid meals for so long. He missed the now sumptuous seeming meals of his early acquaintance with Sherlock but knew his recovery would take a long time… He would have to go home and was calculating the time frame for his departure when a thought struck him. “If you paint from memory then why was I to come to your studios each day.”

A high flush painted itself across that striking face. “For my pleasure, the commission was for my pocket, your presence and your company at each dinner was to be for my pleasure." Sherlock bowed his head, almost in pain at the confession. “It has been a wonderful torment to have you under my roof John, to see your flawless eyes each morning has been wonderful and to see them glazed in fever and suffering has been my greatest torment but you are over the worst and healing now, your stay is nearly over"

To see Sherlock sad, it was as if marble could weep. “I am only healing because of your efforts, you saved my life” John’s voice was quiet and even he could hear his own regret. “You are healing but not restored…" The idea seemed to have just occurred to Sherlock and his face bloomed into a smile before he composed himself and soberly offered. “Please remain with me for your convalescence, we may add others to my household if you require, stay, by all means. You prefer my cook’s works anyway" Sherlock face slowly lit up again as he described their cohabitation. John could not refuse the picture before him, this happy Sherlock for a few more weeks. “Yes, I should remain a while till my strength returns, you do have a lot of rooms" Sherlock dashed out to make arrangement before returning to John’s side. “It's a family residence but I’ve none left, no family. So I stay here and paint and you could stay with me, too. I am sure there is a suitable room for your practise somewhere in this rambling pile of marble, until your strength returns"

John watched Sherlock flush and babble before he placed his hand in Sherlock’s. “I will stay, my residence was temporary as was my staff, which you knew didn’t you… I will stay Sherlock.” John finished his meal and settled down as Sherlock ordered the removal of his few belongings to a more suitable room. “Close to my own as I will need to monitor you, are you feeling fit for the next step?” John nodded as he was ready.


End file.
